Exile

A tortured breath wrangled me here,

a calling toward death. I lifted many

a stone in my past life, my back is ancient

as the pillars of Hercules. It was the dust

in the wind that blinded me to my path,

but I walked compelled by the growing

silence, the loss of reason announced

itself in the form of a song. The mountain

challenged me with its boulders and crags,

but I conquered the air’s thinness and the

deepening snow. I descended into the valley,

my shame a shadow cast toward the West

as the sun rose upon the plain. I dared

to breathe unencumbered breaths

as I stood, naked, without shame.

The wind was clear, and so were the skies,

the grass bowed at my feet, the animals

came. I lay down beside the placid lake,

cupped my hands and drank. I waited

all day for the moon to arise, and once 

risen, it shook the devil from my bones.

I wept, as one weeps when the weeping

is all to be heard. I slept, and dreamt of

a fire that did not burn, but revealed all

the inebriated souls I had left behind.

That’s when I heard it, the bells chimed.

I looked at the crystal city to the North,

and went there, expecting nothing,

as one can only expect when one

is undergoing rebirth. A child of servants,

I found my liberation among the

heliotropes and the violets that lined

the city’s thoroughfare. The lost souls

of this burgeoning city greeted me.

Their faces were of ice and ash.

By way of death, I had found my home at last.